If Donald Trump truly had a magic Sharpie, he could create a Froopyland in his own image and live there forever. In that enchanted land, tropical storms would go wherever he wanted them to, he’d be billions richer than Michael Bloomberg, Ivanka would be someone else’s daughter, and he somehow wouldn’t look like a unicorn with Crohn’s disease had shat cotton candy on his tumescent, unnaturally hued melon head.

But for the past four years he wasn’t living in Froopyland. He lived here, and his power and influence only seemed to grow.

I’ve wondered before—as recently as yesterday, in fact—how the Capitol insurrection happened, given that the plot’s details were about as well hidden as an elementary school’s weekly hot lunch menu. Well, it’s simple. The pr*sident of the United States wasn’t paying attention. Because he had a false narrative to sell.

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